


Lovely Locks and Talented Hands

by Inner_Devil



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Complete, M/M, hair dresser au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-30
Updated: 2015-12-30
Packaged: 2018-05-10 11:11:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5583607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inner_Devil/pseuds/Inner_Devil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is a med school student just looking for a way to pay his bills. So he decides to take up hair styling at his local salon. While styling hair, John meets some interesting people and hears even more fascinating stories. But nothing could prepare him for the day a head full of curls atop a gorgeously opalescent body bounces into the salon and demands a proper trimming without a single mistake. As arrogant as this customer seems, something draws John to him and the blonde soon finds himself in a spiral of insanity. Where will the med school student end up on this winding road? Only time will tell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Gotta Pay the Bills

**Author's Note:**

  * For [anotherwellkeptsecret.tumblr.com](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=anotherwellkeptsecret.tumblr.com).



> John is paying his way through med school by styling and cutting hair, which is how he meets Sherlock.

John was 19-years-old and broke, as most uni students were. His father was a drunk and his mother could hardly pay to take care of the house and herself, much less help pay for his tuition. So the teen was left to pay his own way through uni. Not that he'd expected any less. He'd always been good with hair though, having styled his sister Harry's hair since they were young. He'd even managed to get it perfect for her prom when she went with her girlfriend, Clara. In fact, he'd styled Cara's hair too. So he figured why not pick up the teasing comb and gel again and make some money for himself so he could go through uni.

There was a little salon not far from John's house and university, so he decided to apply there. It didn't take long before the teen was working at The Lounge Soho with an apron around his waist and a head full of sandy blonde hair and medical terminology. As John worked, he would be flexing certain muscles and naming each muscle, joint, vein, artery, and bone in the area. He still managed to style each client's hair just right as he tuned out most of what they said and focused on studying for his medical exams for med school.

"John! We've got a new client for you!" Janet called from the lounge while John was sorting shampoos in the back room one day.

"Yeah? Get him ready for me. I'll be out in a moment," John called back, finishing up the last box of shampoo. He came out to the main room again and sighed, glancing around to find his new client. 

"John, this is Sherlock," Janet introduced. "You'll be styling his hair today. His brother insists it needs to be trimmed. I think we can do a bit extra with it, don't you?" she commented with a wink and smirk.

John chuckled. "Oh, I think so. I've got some styling gel and plenty of product we can use," he agreed.

"Do any more than a trim and I will ensure you're the next case I solve," Sherlock grumbled as he took a seat, ruffling his hair. "I don't need a trim anyway. Mycroft only insists I do because he thinks it's been unruly my entire life. But now he's refused to allow me any cases if I don't get it cut. But don't be a moron. Just get it out of my face and stop. That's all it needs. If you cut even a centimeter more than I've instructed, you won't be working any longer. Understood?"

John rolled his eyes. "All right then," he sighed. 'What a bloody arse,' he thought to himself. 'Why am I the one stuck with him? He'll probably tell me I did everything wrong later.' Regardless, John proceeded to get out his scissors and name muscles of the hand and wrist mentally as he styled the man's hair. After a moment, he realised the brunette had said something to him. 

  
"Sorry, mate. What was that?" he asked.

"Wrong," Sherlock repeated. "You're using your extensor carpi ulnaris tendon when your hand is in that position."

John furrowed his brow. "How--How the hell did you know I was naming muscles?"

"You were mouthing them as you were cutting my hair. It didn't take long to deduce that you named each muscle as it was being used to cut. I saw your lips in the mirror," Sherlock explained as though it were the simplest thing in the world.

John sighed. "Look, genius as that was, you'll have to stop staring at my lips now. Your hair's a mess. I need to shampoo it," he told the man, trying not to show how impressed he'd been by that deduction. He brought Sherlock over to the shampoo station and washed his hair gently.

For once, the arrogant brunette was absolutely silent, his lips parted slightly in amazement. This teen's hands felt like silk running through his hair. Usually, he hated having anyone touch his head, claiming they were too rough and incompetent to deal with his hair. He'd been known to rush out of salon's with his hair still wet and floppy. By now, he would've been banned from every hair salon in London if Mycroft hadn't pulled some strings. But John seemed to know exactly how to handle this man as his hands easily glided through Sherlock's thick, curly hair.

"Sherlock? Sherlock, c'mon, mate. Up you get," John coaxed when he finished, chuckling as Sherlock seemed to have fallen into some sort of trance. He dried the arrogant arse's hair before bringing him back to the chair to finish cutting and styling it. He gently ran his hands through Sherlock's hair and smiled, not taking much time after that to finish cutting it. "See? No trouble at all. You can pay at the front desk and head out, all right?" he told the detective, sending him to the desk and starting to clean up. Sherlock left without another word, seemingly dazed by John's touch. John hardly noticed though, just continuing his work for the day.


	2. Coming Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock insists he needs his hair styled, though he just got it cut a week ago. Ulterior motives at work? He keeps coming back and no one knows why. But John doesn't mind.

"Carpals, metacarpals, proximal phalanges, intermediate phalanges, distal phalanges. Fibrous sheath, flexor digitorum profundus, flexo--" John recited as he cleaned up from his last appointment, stopping when he noticed Sherlock walking in again. "Something I can help you with?" he asked, raising a brow.

"I need you to style my hair," Sherlock told the other. "It....It's still short enough, but I need a new style. I want you to style my hair," he sighed, finally getting it out. He had a hard time getting this out. It was different with John. With anyone else, he could demand what he wanted with no problem. But with this random teenager who'd done his hair once, he for some reason couldn't formulate his thoughts properly.

John chuckled softly. "All right. Any ideas?" he asked, getting his chair ready. "Come on over. I'll get some product and we'll see what we can do." Today, Sherlock didn't seem so bad. It had been a fairly good day for John and the normally obnoxious client seemed nearly dumbfounded. So maybe today would be all right.

Sherlock came over and took a seat in his regular chair, leaning back and letting John put the cover over him so he wouldn't get hair or product on his clothes. He was actually behaving himself today, though not because he was trying. His mind was occupied with a case and he was trying to figure it out. But he needed his hair styled, so he'd come here and figured he could figure out the case there.

"It couldn't have been the sister," he muttered as the chair was tipped back a bit and adjusted for his height.

"What couldn't have been the sister?" John questioned, starting to spread a bit of product in his hands. 

"The murder," Sherlock answered simply, as though it were an everyday topic. Which it was for him. But not for John or anyone in the salon. "The sister has a motive and no alibi. Everything points to her, but it's too obvious. It couldn't have been her. But why? And who?"

John shrugged as he worked the product through Sherlock's smooth, brown hair. "What about some other relative? Or a friend? Coworker?" he suggested.

Throughout the entire hair appointment, John let Sherlock talk through his case, asking questions occasionally and watching a genius mind at work. It really was an incredible thing, John thought. He'd never enjoyed styling anyone's hair more. 

"The gardener!"Sherlock suddenly gasped just as John was about to announce that he was finished. The brunette jumped to his feet, letting the cover on him fall to the ground. "John, it was the gardener! Of course! It makes perfect sense! I have to call Lestrade and get to the scene!" He rushed out the door without another word, John just chuckling.

"Start up a tab for him. I've got a feeling he'll be back," John commented to the man at the front desk, who nodded and did just that. John just went about the rest of his day as usual, though he couldn't help thinking of those long, elegant fingers every time he tried to name bones and muscles in the hand.

                                                                                                         ~

Sherlock rushed off to solve his case, calling Lestrade on the way. He'd never solved a case like this so quickly. There was certainly something about going to get his hair done that made it easier to think about things like this. This had never happened with any other hairdresser though. Sherlock had been to every salon in London and no one had done this for him. Hell, half of them couldn't even handle doing his hair properly, much less helping him with a case. But there was something different about getting his hair styled by John. It was relaxing for him and the man seemed to have a genuine interest in his work. It made it easier to talk about the cases, talk through the evidence and everything in his mind palace. He could straighten things out and answer questions that seemed mundane, and link things together. 

John. That was what was new. That's what made the difference. It wasn't just getting his hair styled by anyone. It was having his hair styled and cut by John and having someone to discuss cases with. That was the new variable that had changed everything for Sherlock. And that was the variable Sherlock would need to manipulate. He had to experiment and discover under exactly what circumstances having John style his hair and talk made him perform at his best. Was it when they talked through cases? Or when John was talking in general? Was it a certain hair style that provided the relaxation? Or could he have anything done to his hair to provide that? Or did he need his hair done at all? He had to find out. 

Over multiple weeks, Sherlock proceeded with his experiment. He went to multiple hair stylists, tried all sorts of hairdos, and solved multiple cases. He changed everything from salons and hair to hair stylists and conversation topics. But he found that the absolute best way to solve cases was to go to The Lounge Soho and have John surprise him with a new style and just talk about the cases and whatever else his mind wandered to. It didn't take him long, upon making this discovery, to return to the salon to see John again.

"Ah, Sherlock. We were starting to think you weren't coming back," John chuckled. "Come on. I'll work with you again. Let's see what we can do with that mess. I swear, you never make it easy on me."

Sherlock was the last client for the day, so he was the only one there, other than the other stylists. He hardly minded though, taking his usual seat. It was quieter this way. He and John chatted uninterrupted as John played with his hair and styled it naturally. He'd found a style he liked on Sherlock, so he was sticking to that as he and Sherlock talked about Sherlock's work and John's studies. Sherlock only ever came to John to get his hair styled, refusing to let anyone else touch him. And John hardly minded, just chatting with the man as he styled the luscious curls. But one day, that changed when John disappeared. 


	3. Shipped Off

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock discovers that his hair dresser has been sent to war and won't be able to do his hair any longer.

"Where is he?" Sherlock demanded irately, looking through the entire salon. "Where is John? He's never missed an appointment with me before. Where is he?"

"Sir, calm down. Please," Peter, another employee, tried to coax. "John's been sent to war. They didn't tell us where he'd be sent, but he won't be back for at least a few years. Maybe.....maybe not at all. Didn't you know that was what he was training for? All those day that he was reciting bones and all that? He was in med school to be an army doctor."

Sherlock froze when he heard that John was sent to war. His John. His hair dresser. Gone. This couldn't happen. No, it couldn't be possible. 

"Do you want your hair styled? I know how John does it," Janet offered, stepping forward. "Come on. I'll give you a trim and you can ramble all you like. All right?"

"No," Sherlock told her firmly, pulling away from all of them. "No, none of you morons can do it properly! Not like John does!" He'd done the experiments, he knew only John could provide the results he needed. Besides, John was the only one Sherlock trusted and actually enjoyed the company of. He wouldn't allow anyone else to touch his hair.

Sherlock rushed out of the salon, not returning to any for months. He refused. He let his hair grow long and shaggy, occasionally cutting it himself to keep it out of his face. But he didn't go to any salons. Not while John wasn't there to style his hair just the way he liked it. He insisted that any other stylist used the wrong product, or styled it incorrectly, or tugged too hard. Whatever the reason, he refused to allow anyone but John Hamish Watson to style his hair. 

He didn't know where John was stationed, but he was determined to figure it out. He knew there was a limited amount of possibilities and he used Mycroft's connections to narrow it down to two: Afghanistan or Iraq. But he couldn't get in close enough to determine which country John was in. It wasn't possible, unless Sherlock went in himself. He nearly did, until Mycroft foiled his entire scheme. That left Sherlock to entertain himself with other means, determined to find some way to keep his mind off of John. 

"He's just a hair stylist. There are thousands just like him all over London. All over the world! You'll get over him," Mycroft insisted.

But it wasn't true. Something was different about John. For one thing, no one else showed any sort of genuine interest in his work. They all ignored him. Not to mention the fact that none of them had styled his hair properly or could handle his erratic behavior. There was a connection with John that Sherlock never had with anyone else. And he refused to let Mycroft send him to another stylist like it didn't matter. It mattered. Maybe not to anyone else, but to Sherlock. And that was what counted.

So Sherlock proceeded to attempt to find something, anything to distract himself. He turned to drugs for years, spending the last of his teen years and well into his twenties in a daze on multiple drugs. But eventually, Mycroft put an end to that too. Soon Sherlock was placed in a hospital from a drug overdose, having overdone it a bit with the cocaine. After he'd healed, he was sent to rehab. He terrorized everyone there until he was sent home, then proceeded to mope around his flat for a while. For now, he was living in a flat Mycroft had bought for him temporarily. 

After his brush with death due to a drug overdose, Sherlock continued to take cases and solve them. He grew taller and lankier, and his hair grew curlier and bouncier. But he still refused to see any other stylist. He found multiple styles he could manage with his hands and the occasional comb so his hair would require minimal work and cutting. He went years without ever returning to a hair salon. 

Sherlock ended up taking up smoking, since no one would sell him drugs anymore. He went through multiple packs a week, insisting he needed them to clear his head so he could continue solving cases. He'd never needed them before, as Mycroft was quick to point out. But he'd had John and drugs before. Now he had neither and he needed something, anything to clear his head. And since this was the only thing anyone would let him have, this would have to do. He ended up talking to a skull he kept on his mantel, though it was a lousy conversationalist. It didn't provide questions or possibilities like John would. Sherlock sighed, collapsing into his arm chair. Maybe it was just time to face it. He needed John. He needed his stylist back or he wouldn't be able to solve cases as easily as he'd been able to before. He just hoped John came back.

"You have to pull him back home," Sherlock demanded, calling up his brother. "Pull whatever strings you need to. I don't care what it takes. But come up with some reason for John to be sent hoe. Nothing dishonourable or anything of the sort. Just something simple to send him home."

"Sherlock," Mycroft sighed, pressing a hand to his temple. "You know I can't do that. John has to serve his sentence just like everyone else. He signed up for a tour and he has to serve. I can't change that."

"Find a way," Sherlock snarled. "Whatever it takes. At least tell me where he is. And don't tell me you've tried and can't. Do whatever it takes to find him."

Mycroft sighed and ran a quick search on all military databases. Then he furrowed his brow. "It says he just returned home," he commented. "Just a few days ago. I'm certain you could find him with a bit of searching, though he's only just returned to London on an army pension."

That was all Sherlock needed. The brunette hung up and ran a number of searches, determined to find the man. When he discovered as much as he could, the detective tried to figure out where John could be. But his mind was so busy, he couldn't seem to figure anything out. He sighed, deciding to visit the morgue instead. Heading for St. Bart's, he made sure Molly had a fresh body prepared for him to experiment on. Perhaps it would help him some. When he arrived, he headed straight for the morgue and proceeded with his experiment, viciously beating said corpse with his riding crop. He then went to the lab and worked on looking through various slides and identifying them for future reference. All Sherlock could do now was wait.


	4. Home Again and Cutting Hair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John is home and Sherlock finally finds him, but only after being coaxed into getting a haircut.

John had returned home a few days prior to Sherlock's search, though he hadn't even though that a former client of his would be searching for him. He was really just trying not to pity himself. He was hardly able to make ends meet with just his army pension once a month, so he decided he needed to get a job. And, since he wasn't really qualified for much and overqualified for working at a regular practice, the invalided soldier decided to return to styling hair. He went back to The Lounge Soho and met up with his former coworkers, now working with them once again. It took him a bit longer to get hair done, since he needed to move around some to get the products he needed. But he was still wonderful with hair and could easily make people relax. He found he enjoyed it, when his PTSD wasn't acting up and his legs didn't bother him too severely. He was a wonderful hair stylist and smiled a good deal of the time.

One day, shortly after Sherlock had decided to focus on cases instead of searching for someone who probably didn't want to be found, the tall, pale brunette grumpily made his way into the salon, coerced by his brother. They'd made a deal. Sherlock could have his cigarettes back and a brand new case, a double homicide, if and only if he went to The Lounge Soho and got his hair washed, combed, cut, and styled once more so it was presentable. Sherlock had begrudgingly agreed and was now ready to murder anyone in his path. 

"Sherlock? Huh. Never thought I'd be seeing you again," John commented as he noticed the man walking in. "You've gotten taller. Still got those lanky arms though, huh?" he teased.

Sherlock furrowed his brow and looked over through his mop of curls, eyes widening when he saw John. "John? When did you come back?" he asked, rushing over. "Where have you been? I haven't had my hair styled properly in years with you gone."

John chuckled softly and smiled. "I went to war, you wanker! 'Course I wasn't here to do your hair. I just got home a few days ago," he answered. "Now come on. Get your arse over here and we'll see what you've left me to work with."

Sherlock smiled and came to sit in the shampoo station, taking a seat and leaning back. He closed his eyes, allowing himself to relax now that John had returned to style his hair.

"Jesus, Sherlock! Your hair's a bloody mess! I can't believe you let it get so bad!" John commented as he shampooed the man's hair. "You're lucky I'm back. I think I can fix this. Just give me a moment. All right? And you'd better behave yourself while I'm taking care of this or I'll just shave it off," he teased.

Sherlock chuckled a bit and just let John do his work. Without even noticing he was doing it, he started talking through his most recent case. It had always worked before and he saw no reason that it would change now. He just talked and talked, letting the man know exactly what case he was working on and what details he had. John offered his input as he shampooed, then dried the man's hair and brought him over to have his hair cut. 

"Sounds like a tough one. But if you want my opinion, I'm leaning towards blaming the doctor. I mean, seems like negligence on his part. But it had to have been disguised like that. No doctor could ever be so stupid, even if they were fresh out of med school," John insisted. "I'd say look into what he was up to, since the victim went to him for botox before they died. Wouldn't that make the most sense?" He finished cutting Sherlock's hair, then fluffed up the curls a bit and smiled. "There we go. Back to normal. Go on and pay up front. Though you've still got your tab from when you ran out a few times," he reminded the other.

"Mycroft will cover it," Sherlock decided, getting to his feet. "Thank you, John. I'm glad you're back."

"That makes two of us," John commented with a smile. "See you next week then for your regular shampoo appointment."

Sherlock nodded. He'd made appointments for a shampoo once a week with John to help him think before the man left. Now that he was back, they could resume. "I'll see you next week, John," he agreed before leaving. After all, he had another case to solve for the police department again. John just watched him go, smiling softly.

"Got a little crush there, Johnny?" Janet teased, handing him a broom. "Get cleanin'. You've still gotta clean up that hair, unless you plan on keeping it."

John rolled his eyes. "Hardee-har-har," he replied sarcastically, starting to sweep. "Ya know, just 'cause I was gone for a few years doesn't mean that I'm not still your superior. Well, in that I can cut hair way better than you could," he teased as he swept up the hair. "He's our last client, as usual. Let's get everything cleaned up and straightened before we lock up. And then maybe we'll have a night out, since we're finishing up early. All right? Pub sound good?"

The rest of the employees agreed and they headed out for the pub once everyone finished cleaning up. Sherlock, on the other hand, went home for the night.


	5. The Genius and the Hair Stylist

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter skips forward a couple of months. John still styles Sherlock's hair every week and helps with cases.

Every week, Sherlock made sure he came in on the same day to get his hair shampooed, cut, and styled depending on what he needed. A simple shampooing easily helped clear his head and made it easier for him to solve cases. But getting a trim and style meant more time to spend with John, which provided more time to talk through the case. And, well, to get to know about John. As much as the brunette didn't want to admit it, he was falling in love with his hair dresser. He loved feeling those talented hands running through his curls, washing them clean and massaging his scalp. He could only imagine what else hands like that could do in other areas. 

John loved styling Sherlock's hair. He was by far the best behaved and most interesting client they had at The Lounge Soho. He looked forward to their appointments every week and was always smiling through the entire thing. He enjoyed getting to help Sherlock solve the cases, giving his ideas even when they were called stupid or dull. As aggravating as the man could be, John had to admit that he was falling in love. He'd fallen and he'd fallen hard. He loved Sherlock Holmes and he loved seeing him every week. He wished they could see each other more often. But between Sherlock's constant cases and John having to work all the time, neither man had time to properly see one another outside of the appointments. And that hardly seemed an appropriate time to ask someone out. So John held in how he felt. Besides, he couldn't risk asking Sherlock out if the man didn't feel the same way. Then he'd have to shampoo and talk and act like nothing was wrong or awkward. 

But that hardly mattered now. Right now, all John needed to think about was washing, cutting, and styling Sherlock's hair. The man had been coming in for months now and always got the same treatment, always talking through cases and his frustrations and allowing John to make comments that made him reconsider certain aspects of the case. He knew the drill well enough by now that occasionally John would walk in to find the brunette genius already seated at the shampoo station ready for his appointment. 

Today, Sherlock walked in right on time and met John on the way to the shampoo station. They went through their usual routine, a bit of taunting and teasing as they got ready to shampoo Sherlock's hair. They talked through yet another case as Sherlock had his hair done, nothing out of the ordinary. John offered his advice and help as much as he usually did, trying to help solve it all. What he didn't know was that Sherlock had already solved the case. He was just making small talk while he tried to think of a way to ask John something without seeming desperate. 

"You seem distracted," John commented while he was styling Sherlock's hair. "Is something wrong?"

Sherlock was silent for a moment before suddenly turning around and looking at John. "You have to move in with me!" he demanded, causing John to blush.

"W--What?" John asked, startled by the sudden demand.

"I need you to move in with me. There's a flat on Baker Street. I know the landlady and she's giving me a special price for it. We could afford it together. I've done the math. I know we could. With your army pension and paycheck from styling hair, along with my money from solving cases, we could easily afford it. So I need you to move in with me. Please....I might have a hair emergency and need you to fix it," Sherlock insisted.

John was silent for a little while, worrying Sherlock. The detective started to think that it had been a mad idea and John was about to laugh at him or yell or something. Then John started to chuckle. "Sherlock Holmes, you really are a madman, aren't you?" he teased. "If you must know, yes. I'll move in with you. I happen to like you, even if I've only been around you while styling your hair. So yeah. After work today, you can stop by my flat and we'll move my things into our new flat. All right? Here. Here's my number and address," he told the man, handing over a piece of paper where he'd written his name, number, and address. "See you after work, Sherlock."

Sure enough, the two men parted ways until after John finished his shift, when they then met at his flat and moved his things out and over to Baker Street. The pair moved into 221B Baker Street together that night and lived there for years after. John constantly did Sherlock's hair for any occasion, washing it, styling it, and cutting it in their flat. And so the genius and the hair stylist lived happily together for years to come.


End file.
